One Night at the Ritz
by ricca
Summary: It was supposed to be a quiet night off, her birthday celebration. Mega-City One had other plans. A little Dredd/Anderson one-shot adventure, Movie and Comic-verse compatible, inspired by 'Helios'.


_A/N: There were a couple ideas for Red Pharma Conspiracy that had to be thrown out in the last year. Some of them I was excruciatingly fond of, and so built a short story around them rather than let them go to waste. The results are below, based loosely on the 'Helios' storyline. Fair warning that there is a bit (maybe more than a bit) of Dredd/Anderson, though for all my ability I have kept it as closely to the movie and comic cannon. Also, the usual disclaimer: Judges Dredd, Anderson, and Corey belong to the original content creators, 2000 AD, etc. Please review._

* * *

The shower came as a welcome relief after her short, brutal patrol. The large banks in the communal bath were largely empty and Anderson had taken her time rinsing the sticky blood out of her hair, under her nails, even her eyelashes. After the water ran clear down the drain she remained under the pounding showerhead, luxuriating under the sensation. When her skin began to prune she stirred herself enough to cut the torrent and mince across the slippery tile, collected a towel from the pile and dripped toward the changing lockers, chafing at her chilled skin as she walked.

She had expected Judge Corey to be there having passed the empath on her way in, but the rest of Psi-Division was a surprise, particularly since they were all in uniform and quite clearly not on their way to the showers.

Corey finished snapping up the back of her cropped vinyl top and spun on her bare toes to face Anderson with a wide grin. "Surprise!"

Anderson laughed and adjusted her grip on the thin towel as her exuberant friends mobbed her. "What's this for? " It was possible to surprise a psychic, even a powerful one. True, it didn't happen very often, especially not for secrets being kept by an entire department. But with some organization and mental discipline, helped along with a consulting Precog, it was apparently doable.

With a flick of her wrist Corey gestured two Psi Judges lurking in the background forward then began tugging on a tight pair of zebra striped pants. "We decided it was time you got a proper birthday celebration. I mean, how often does a person get to turn twenty-eight?"

Anderson gave the flat white box a suspicious look as it was borne towards her. "About the same number of times they turn twenty-seven? Or thirty? Or any other age?"

"Except you didn't celebrate last year, or the year before that, or the year before that." Corey gave Anderson a slightly ominous look suggesting that this was an offensive shortcoming that would not be tolerated. "Now be a good sport and open the box."

"You only joined two years ago," Anderson protested and was answered only by a chuckle. She loved her new Division; she had worked excruciatingly hard on finding and training exceptional, unconventional, Judges, but occasionally missed being the only psychic on the force. She made them wait while she shimmied into her plain black underwear and then approached cautiously, picking at the wide black ribbon until it fell away. The laughter of her colleagues died down as she pried the cardboard lid off and peeled away the tissue covering the contents. It was black, leathery, and there didn't appear to be very much of it. "What's this?"

"A dress, sir," One of the box holders, a kinetic still adapting to the division's lifestyle, quipped and grinned shyly at the amused look Anderson shot him.

"Well spotted, young Nixel." Corey swept over, lifting the garment out and holding it up for display. "In honor of you having a birth date, and a night off that happens to coincide with my night off, I'm taking you out to this great place I found. You can't go there in uniform, you know, and I don't believe you actually own anything else. Ergo, we all chipped in and got you a dress."

It was a lovely dress, not as small or ostentatious as it had looked in the box. The leather didn't gleam; there were no obscene cut outs to be found anywhere. It didn't seem to have any particularly noticeable decoration at all beyond a slight texture that brought to mind a Kevlar vest. Anderson was peripherally aware that there were segments of the fetishistic population who had evolved a taste for Judge Uniforms and she wouldn't be entirely surprised if Corey had dug this out of one of the establishments that catered to such tastes. She abandoned that train of thought and prepared for graceful surrender with one last vestige of protest. "I don't do Slams or Squish."

Corey's grin stretched the limits of her narrow face as she helped wrap the garment around Anderson. "I wouldn't dare take you to a Squish, Cass. I don't think anyone would get out alive. A new Bop opened in the Historic district last week, and it's fun as hell. Suck in now." Masterfully, she tightened the hidden laces that molded the fabric to the body beneath and twitched the hem to lie properly. "Don't you look good enough to eat?"

It was _tight_ in a way that nothing else she had ever worn had been, clinging in a way that her leather uniform never did. It didn't restrict, but it certainly exposed, and she tugged at the boning. "Where does the gun go?"

"Why would you want a gun to spoil the line of that dress?" Corey laughed aloud at Anderson's mortification and dug a white paper bag out of her locker. "I'm kidding, here."

The bag contained another plain white box, shorter and squatter than the one that had held her dress, and when opened revealed a pair of knee length black leather boots and hosiery. Carefully Anderson peeled into the delicate stockings and slid her feet into the fresh cool leather. A panel had been cut carefully and disguised to hold a small pistol securely, but it would be impossible to fit something as bulky as her LawGiver. "And Logistics is just going to give me a Spec-Ops pistol for the night?" She tried to make the questions scathing. It might have worked on a different crowd.

"You act like they're the only ones with access to those beauties. You can thank Jamie later." Corey smirked, almost glowed with satisfaction, and presented a small grey plastic box with a flourish. All the effort exerted to make this happen was entirely worth it to see Anderson crack the box and gasp in surprise and delight.

"It's beautiful." The pistol was without adornment, black polymer body dull and slightly scratched from time and use. It was stark against the grey foam lining its container, but elegant through simplicity instead of plain. It was love at first sight, pure and complete when she lifted it and slid the magazine of .45 ammunition home. Reverently, Anderson crouched, checking the safety, an archaic looking lever, and gently fit the borrowed weapon in the leather straps around her calf. She stood, blinking back a sudden wave of emotion that might have been hers and grinned at her colleagues. "You guys are amazing."

"Aren't we, though?" Judge Corey smiled fondly at their Division. "You guys go have a great night, and don't let ANYONE bother Judge Anderson with official business for the next eight hours. Got it?" She laughed at the mismatched holler of replies and snatched up a comb. "Now let's get that mop of yours in line with the rest of you, gorgeous."

Anderson sat quietly as the comb brought swift order to the tangles in her hair, and accepted the touch of product and handful of pins to ensure that the effect persisted for longer than a moment. "Let me grab my badge and we can go." The hands working around her scalp vanished and Corey reappeared, fastening a belt with her 'Giver holster around her hips.

"Leave it, Cass, just for tonight. It's okay to let yourself be someone else once in a while." Corey took a moment to make some minute adjustments to her own hair and face, and clipped her badge to the dip in her cleavage.

Anderson wasn't sure she had been out in public without her badge since her field exam, when she had removed the scratched and battered insignia and slapped it down in Judge Dredd's palm. It had been waiting for her in the dormitory by the time she had returned and she hadn't taken it off since. Distantly she was aware of a hand on her shoulder, shaking her back to the present moment.

"Yeah, that's what I mean. Look, you don't need a badge to be an insane ass kicking machine. There are hundreds of other Judges on duty tonight. Let them have their moment of heroism, eh?" Teasing and cajoling, she got Anderson out of the dressing room, out the door and into the balmy spring night.

A sky-car was waiting for them by the curb, driver preoccupied with a shouting match in his communicator until the two women were secured in back and he rocketed into the sky, dancing around the heavy traffic of early evening. The city looked so different from this perspective, like standing on the balcony of the two hundredth floor of a Mega-Block, flecks of light spreading in all directions. It wasn't a view Anderson could ever be bored by, however often she was given the opportunity to view it.

"Whoa," Corey whistled appreciatively as they crossed from the Judges' District and cut the corner of the Business District, heading towards Pleasure. "Hey Cass, check it out!"

Anderson smiled, watching the patterns of light change to softly lit grids of office buildings. "Rookie," she teased, "you've never seen the City from up high before?"

Corey thumped her shoulder without looking away from the sights. "Not all of us get offices with windows, and the vid-screens don't do it justice by half. Oh look, that sign looks like a-"

Anderson never got to find out what the sign welcoming the air born traffic to the Pleasure District looked like as their trajectory changed sharply, slamming the two women into each other as the weightlessness of sudden descent halted abruptly and their driver speculated angrily about the parentage of his fellow drivers.

They touched ground shortly after, Anderson exiting the cab with all due haste. She didn't mind flying, or had gotten use to it, but having another person, a strange civilian as the sole operator made her feel vulnerable. She waited as Corey paid the fare and stared up at the quaint little building. At sixty five stories it was not particularly deserving of the name sky-scraper, but that had been the fashion in the time of its original creation, and the nomenclature had persisted even as other taller buildings had sprung up around it. The steel and glass façade looked well put together, anyway, reflecting the light from archaic, flashing sign stretching over the entrance naming the building simply 'Ritz'. The wide double doors were propped open invitingly, and an energetic beat was thumping somewhere inside. Judge Corey offered her an elbow and Anderson laughed as she took her friend's arm and allowed herself to be escorted into the maze like interior. Once inside they simply followed the music, leaving the narrow twisty hall for a huge room, edged by long glass bar tops separating the dancers from a rainbow of bottles, silently attended by a squad of human and robot attendants. Corey made a bee-line for the bar and Anderson drifted in her wake, a little lost at sea.

The stools under the long glass counters were high and richly padded, and Anderson edged her way onto one, the motion made awkward and delicate by her lack of pants. Glancing over her shoulder, cheeks burning, she felt absolutely certain that someone had witnessed her discomfort, or perhaps been accidentally mooned, and tried to feel some relief at the absence of shock or malignance behind her. A serving bot startled her; she grunted and waved the robot over to Corey, trusting her companion to make a practical decision while remaining within legal boundaries. Still, she felt odd, tense and stiff, as though unseen eyes were watching.

"Will you relax?" Corey demanded as Anderson checked over her shoulder for the third time that minute. "Drink this, doctor's orders." She took a glass from the mercifully swift attendant and pressed the violently pink cocktail into Anderson's hand.

"I just have a feeling something awful is going to happen tonight." Anderson twirled the slender stem of the glass and took a cautious sip. It tasted like bubblegum and burned all the way down.

"Are you a precog?" Corey asked archly, stirring her green and orange cocktail with a white umbrella on a stick. "No? Then don't take it so seriously. It wouldn't be Big Meg if something awful wasn't happening. Drink your synth-tini, you're probably just picking up on all the admiring looks we're getting."

Anderson could feel the flickers of thoughts, attentions wandering over her body, exploring the short hem with a little too much interest. It wasn't the first time she had encountered such an attitude. It would be impossible to be a Psi around so many, Judges and creeps both, and not have a firsthand working knowledge of male appraisal and approval, and their darker cousin, arousal. To have so much of it at once was new, and not entirely pleasant. "I'm not here for an audience." She retorted with a toss of her head.

"Damn right," Corey saluted the statement with a lift of her glass. "Though you never know, it might be fun dancing with one of the boys; building his hopes up and crushing them mercilessly." She caught wind of Anderson's negative response before the thought manifested itself externally. "Or not, but you're allowed to have a bit of fun with your life. Code of Conduct doesn't mean foreswearing all the good things in this world."

Anderson swallowed more of her peculiar cocktail, trying to organize her thoughts so as to not seem like a wet blanket. "I've got nothing against fun. I like fun! But going and rubbing up against some stranger?" She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Well if it's strangers you don't like, I'm sure Colin or Nixel would have been delighted to come along." Corey caught the bartender's eye and tapped another drink order into the keypad imbedded in the countertop. "We could have had some real team building activities going on."

It was too absurd a statement not to laugh at. Even Anderson knew, from a purely theoretical perspective, that however a Judge interpreted the Code; you never, ever got involved with a member of your own squad. "Nixel's just a kid! And I thought you and Colin had an arrangement." Her glass was empty. When did that happen?

"He's a newbie, not an infant, Cass." Corey shook her head and tutted. "And Colin and I could arrange it to include you, if you wanted. No? That's too bad. No kids, no threes, no women unless you've been holding out on me… What about your old buddy? Dredd? I bet he'd love to see you in a dress like that." The server-bot rolled over bearing a tray with two glasses, a high tumbler of neon blue and a short fat glass of gold. "Pick your poison."

The mention of Judge Dredd had an unpleasantly sobering effect on Anderson, and she took the small glass of glittery golden liquid half heartedly. "He'd find it all utterly contemptuous."

"Oh," Corey pivoted away from the bar to face her friend. "You're still hung up on him?"

"I wasn't ever 'hung up on him'." Anderson growled. "We worked together a few times; just colleagues."

It was too egregious a lie to let pass without mention. The bitterness and disappointment might have been kept out of Cassandra's tone, but Corey wasn't a Psi Judge by accident. She bonked her superior gently on her forehead. "Honey, why would you even try to lie to me?"

Anderson frowned at the rhetorical question. So maybe she had a small crush on Judge Dredd when she had first started out. So what? She had kept it to herself, done nothing to raise the subject, and let the matter die when she was tasked with building Psi Division. That success was all that mattered now, not a few lingering thoughts. She was better than that. "It's all the past." She took a cautious sip of the new concoction. It was amazing, spicy and sweet, tingling warmly down to her toes.

"Of course it is," Corey agreed neutrally. "I'd totally understand if you did, though. Have feelings at some time in your entirely not-sordid past together. I mean, that man has an ass made for wearing leather pants."

The flashing white lights of the dance floor did not entirely disguise Anderson's blush. "Corey! Don't talk about his ass like that!"

"Like it's practically a crime against nature not to stare at when the opportunity presents itself?" Corey grinned cruelly at Anderson's discomfort and took a long drink from her glass.

Anderson had taken pains to not stare when the few fleeting opportunities had presented themselves. It had seemed disrespectful, a breach of trust. He had trusted her to stay professional as their work took them into occasional compromising positions, and he had kept his own actions professional as well. On the other hand, they had utilized the communal showers at the same time on occasion and it would have been impossible to miss Dredd's impressive overall physique. Anderson blushed again at the trajectory of her own thoughts. "You're impossible."

"You love it." Corey retorted and squeezed Anderson's bare shoulder gently.

The touch was comforting, both in its implicit acceptance and companionship, and as a freely offered psychic channel for Anderson to gain direct access to the empath's thoughts. The subtleties that couldn't quite be articulated aloud were conveyed with perfect clarity. Corey held nothing back and even at a quick brush Cassandra could feel the depthless love and concern the other woman held for her. It was awe inspiring, and caused certain tightness around her eyes. "Corey, I-"

"Shush," Corey smiled lightly. "Someday you'll work everything out in that adorable little heart of yours and you'll be happier for it, I think. In the meanwhile, I advocate kicking back, partaking in the excellent liquor and dancing yourself sick." She raised her glass in salute, clicked it against Anderson's half full glass, and threw the contents back in one elegant motion.

Anderson copied the movement with the remnants of her drink, exhaling sharply as the intoxicants hit her all at once. "Oh!" She felt exquisite, admired, desired; the press of minds no longer seemed overly predatory. Her body wanted to move and she obeyed the sudden desire, springing lightly to her feet and tugging the highly amused Judge Corey to the dance floor.

The crowd accepted them, made space for them, and otherwise seemed to ignore them. The ear-busting music had an irresistible beat that pulled them along, kept them moving in synchrony, in and out in a peculiarly pleasant intimacy. She fit comfortably around her lanky partner, limbs twining and separating, her boots pressing close to Corey's heels but never trodding on. Could she fit so well with Judge Dredd? It was a stupid question, utter insanity brought on by Corey's questioning and artificially relaxed inhibitions. It was utterly impossible to imagine him dancing at all, much less in the elegant patterns that Corey flowed through, guiding Anderson deftly around in orbitals artfully engineered for maximum effect. They're stupid impermissible thoughts to have, anyway. There are boundaries that will never, ever be crossed, and she has nothing to gain from giving such foolish considerations a moment of thought.

"You're thinking too loudly," Judge Corey purred, languidly dipping her partner. "You got to do something about all that pessimism you're carrying around. It's giving me bad vibes." She winked at a particularly audacious cat-caller and spun Cassandra back to her feet. "Everything is going to be okay."

Then the world exploded in a deafening roar and a flash of ultra-white light.

* * *

It was an emergency, Control had said. _Proceed directly to Central. Do not wait for Transport. Do not wait for back up. Just go, and go now. _So Dredd went, long since resigned to answering to the whims of Control's caprice and annoyed at leaving a task incomplete, but maybe just slightly pleased to be excused from the grueling dullness of security detail. He acknowledged the Judges he was leaving to watch the floor on their own and burned rubber on his way back.

A Secretary was waiting outside when he parked his bike on the street. "Control Judge Morose to escort you, sir. Don't worry about your LawMaster, someone will attend to it momentarily."

It might have seemed crazy that a Street Judge would need an escort anywhere, but Dredd was familiar enough with the labyrinths of Control and the multitude of fail-safes in place not to question it. Somewhat mulishly he secured his motorcycle before following the stumpy desk Judge inside. The guide allowed him to bypass the ordinary check in protocols, heading straight for the elevators that opened at their approach. Up a hundred odd floors, then through a careful array of security check points, then into another elevator all the way to the top of the building. Inconvenient, yes, but also more secure against intruders. On the floor 200 he was politely deposited before another secretary.

The little man pushed an invisible button under his desk. "Judge Dredd here to see you sir." He sniffed, looked Dredd up and down and sighed. "Go on in."

That heinous little bureaucrat didn't even merit acknowledgement. Dredd pushed past, through the heavily reinforced door of the Chief Judge's office. He stopped just short of the sprawling desk and saluted. "Sir."

Chief Judge Goodman didn't look away from the video screen in front of her. "Joseph. Shut the door." She waited, fixed on the video playing until the door clicked closed. "A Situation has arisen in the Historic District." The capitalization was audible. "It seems there has been a certain lassitude towards some of the regulations about off-duty activities. A cluster of Judges has been taken hostage in some filthy little bebop joint called Ritz."

"Do you know who's behind it?"

"We received this fourteen minutes ago." Goodman folded her lips into an even thinner line and turned the video display towards him.

The image was grainy, the result of careful filtering and scrambling, reconstructed to be just on the right side of comprehensible. A fat bulldog face filled the screen, scowl distorting the heavy tattoos creeping up jowly cheeks. "Judges! This is the Dragon's Mouth of Cartel del Carrow. We control the entire Ritz building, including seven of your Judges." The fat ugly face shifted, allowing the camera to make out seven prone forms, Judge's badge clipped to the brown hoods. "The Dragon's Mouth is a reasonable man, and will offer you this deal: all eight of your people for five of ours: Tiger Claw, Tiger Fang, Cat Eye, Dragon Breath, and Miss Elaina Carrow. Bring our people to the entrance of Club Ritz and we'll let your people go. In good faith, I give you the first hour before we start shooting. After? One every half hour. Judges first, then we start on your little civilians. Tick tock, Judges." The face loomed large and then the screen went black.

"Has any of this been confirmed by Control?"

Goodman frowned, "That building is a relic from the First Atomic war: lead lined. Tek says there's something inside scrambling their surveillance. For the moment we have to take these terrorists at their word."

"It's a trap." Dredd grunted.

"Of course it's a trap," Goodman growled, "We don't even know if those are the Judges, or civilians who have been bagged and badged as imposters. But there are Judges in that building and they must be retrieved."

"Why?" It had to be asked. Retrieving those eight would risk a many more lives. There was an ugly mathematics to risk assessment, but a cruel necessity none the less.

"You don't have the pay-grade to ask that, Joseph." Goodman took a moment to rake her fingers through her short brown curls and gather her temper. "And it doesn't matter anyway."

"Get an infiltration specialist in here, then. That's what they're trained for."

"We're working on it." Goodman shook her head firmly. "We need time. My secretary will direct you to Quartermaster Elias for a complete briefing. Do hurry." She gave him a curt nod of dismissal and returned to the display on her desk.

* * *

Dredd was nearly embarrassed to knock on the innocuous looking side door, half hidden by the thick layers of graffiti that coagulated over any spare surface left unattended for more than an hour. It was an insanely stupid plan, even by Council standards. No one was going to open a locked hostage situation for the delivery guy, it was the sort of thing that only happened in the offensively ridiculous crime vids that were kept circulating too often to ever accumulate dust in the media library. He adjusted his grip on the flimsy cardboard prop and gave the door a cursory examination. A small speaker indicated a com system; he leaned on the buzzer. "Papi's Pizza, delivery." Tensely he waited in the following silence, wondering what the fall back plan was supposed to be when this failed. There was always kicking the door down and going in blind. It was ugly but it sure as hell had worked wonders in the past.

Against all expectations, the speaker crackled, "About bloody time! Be right down."

A promising start, but as the seconds dragged into minutes, Dredd reconsidered. It could be a set up. The hostile forces inside could be taking their time arranging an ambush. It could be a prank, leave the delivery boy waiting for hours just for a laugh. Just as he was about to cross over from twitchy and paranoid into full on pre-emptive attack, the door creaked open. Preliminary analysis revealed a rather generic mercenary in mismatched armor, military grade from ten years ago, black market standard. Long arm held at ease. No suspicion, just the bloke who drew the short straw having to go pay.

"Got any change, mate?" The mercenary adjusted his casual grip on the weapon, balancing it precariously in the crook of his arm as he reached into a pocket for his wallet. He never made it that far, and Dredd didn't even have time to take the opening as four muffled fire shots pop rapidly behind the soldier and the front of the ancient chest armor buckled outward. The dead man dropped to his knees and toppled forward, revealing a delicate blond woman in a tight black leather dress and peculiar black leather boots holding an entirely practical pistol with ease.

The woman began to lower her pistol and Dredd moved decisively. However well timed, a civilian could not be allowed to interfere with such high security Judge business. He shoved past the dead man, scooping the rifle up and kicking an errant arm out of the way to allow the door to shut behind him. Perfunctorily he checked the magazine and chamber, settling it in his grip and keeping the woman in his field of fire. "Get out of here."

Dark hazel eyes snapped, and the woman didn't comply, simply moved her pistol down all the way to indicate her intent. "Dredd, what the fuck are you doing here?"

The voice pulled it all together, and he glared at Judge Anderson. "On assignment. What's your excuse?" Reluctantly he shifted the rifle into a less offensive position.

Anderson gave an exasperated little huff. "I was having a nice night out. Some dick decided to throw a flash-bang in the middle of a crowded dance floor." She paused in the middle of what was showing promise of growing into a full on rant, head cocked to one side. "We need to move. They have patrols everywhere." She tugged on his arm and moved into the building, drawing him along and ducking into a small side room, furnished sparsely with a few hard chairs and battered table. "What are you doing here?"

Dredd shut the door and leaned against it, weighing the benefits of telling Anderson versus trying to dissuade her from further participation. It was a highly classified mission, but they had worked together for high stakes before. "A transmission went out, there's half a dozen Judges being held somewhere in here. Scanners are blocked."

"Judge Corey was missing when I came to," Anderson winced. "I didn't recognize anyone else." She perched on the edge of the table and popped the magazine out of her pistol, inventorying the remaining ammunition and frowning. "Don't suppose you have any extra ammo?"

Dredd shook his head. "This isn't some shoot 'em up mission, Anderson. Does the word covert mean anything to you?"

"Does it mean anything to you?" Anderson asked rhetorically, making the pistol vanishes into the top of her boot. "A covert operation and they sent you? Those poor dumb bastards. What's your plan?"

Perhaps it had been an error to include the Psi Judge on this. Dredd considered knocking her out here and now and coming back for her later, consequences be damned, then revised his plan as Anderson hopped off the table and gave him a warning look. He tried taking refuge in protocol. "It's not your assignment, Judge. You haven't been briefed on the parameters and you're not equipped to function in full capacity."

Anderson rolled her eyes at Dredd's retreat behind formalities. "There's an argument of last resort if I ever heard one. Are you really turning down my awesome psychic assistance in a vital reconnaissance mission? Is this about that thing in Texas City?" She plucked at the sleeve of his shirt, opened her mouth as though to add something, and then clamped it shut before the errant thought could escape through her mouth.

He pushed her grabby little psychic hands away with a grunt. "It's critically time sensitive. Do you have any combat capabilities at all in your current state of… whatever the hell you're wearing?"

"Do you like it?" Anderson shot him a farcically seductive look and cocked her hip to highlight the sharp silhouette of tight leather. "I'm going to petition Goodman to make this the official uniform for Judges when we get out of here. I think it'll be a popular move."

A persistent untamed part of his mind noted appreciatively the way light whispered along the material accentuating his one-time companion's delicate figure. He was confident he had never seen Anderson in anything except her street uniform and it was surprising how distracting black leather could be. He discarded any and all possible statements that could be construed as complimentary and opted for, "Never, ever mention that dress and Goodman in the same statement." Her playful expression, as though they weren't ass deep in a hostile environment, out gunned and out planned, fell for an instant before being replaced with a light smile. For the first time he noticed the red and brown bruises on her knuckles and wrists, a small cut above her left eyebrow. "Why weren't you taken with the other Judges?"

"Luck," She replied with sudden sobriety. "I left my badge and 'Giver at home tonight; they left me lumped in with the Civilians. I'm going to get Judge Corey back, Dredd, with or without your drokking help."

"And they didn't disarm you?" He gestured vaguely toward the hidden weapon in her boot. If that is the caliber of creep they're dealing with, this could be far easier than he had anticipated.

"Oh they did." The sly smile flickered back to life for an instant. "I think I surprised them." She pushed away from the desk and crossed the narrow room. "Come on, we need to hide the body before anyone trips over it."

He extended his hand, stopping her as she began to turn the doorknob. "You should know that all identified Judges in this club were taken hostage by the Carrow Cartel. There's a high probability they have your colleague."

Anderson froze, and then lowered her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "And you were going to bring this up when? No, don't answer, just shut up a minute." Her face distorted into a grimace of concentration. "I can't feel her, she must be up high, fifty or higher, I'd guess."

Retrieval was laughably beyond the scope of this mission, but Dredd had some insight into Goodman's thought process, however unconventional it might be. If she had merely wanted someone to observe and report, he wouldn't be here right now. The pragmatic Chief Judge was just the sort to give him the general protocols of a situation, and trust him to act beyond the limits if it would maximize results. _There's always the third option_. The words he had uttered during Anderson's assessment came back to him, and he scowled at the irony. "Let's go."

The worried lines around Anderson's eyes eased minutely, and she nodded at him, slipping around his arm and out the door.

Dredd paused to give his newly acquired rifle a quick examination, checking the bolt and magazine before following Judge Anderson. It was hard to imagine what good a rifle would be in these short twisting halls, probably more reliable to club a creep with this than shoot, but extra armaments always had room to be beneficial. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and focused on keeping pace with his companion. She was quick, jogging along empty stretches of hallway, slowing imperceptibly as she approached intersections and resuming her pace once her unusual abilities determined the way was clear. There was a lot of good to be said for an ally who could see around corners and through walls. He turned his attention from what might have been encroaching on envy, and tried to map their route to the blueprints he had studied during his briefing with the Quartermaster. He came to a sharp stop just behind his fellow Judge, plastering himself flat against the wall, a few inches from a sharp corner. "Elevator?" He asked ever so softly. It seemed like the logical choice to him, it would take them nearly the entire allotted time to walk up sixty-five flights of stairs.

Anderson closed her eyes and nodded once. "Five guards, what do you think?" The whisper escaped as softly as a breath.

It was a risk, a huge risk, five armored armed guards against the two of them. They had overcome worse odds, but was this their best option? He scowled, recalling the floor plans once more. He shook his head at Anderson, jerking his thumb to signal retreat. She followed without a word, and when he judged they had sufficient distance from anyone who might overhear them, he spoke. "There's a service elevator behind the bar. We should avoid unnecessary confrontation at this stage."

She nodded, seeing the sense in that, and turned on her heel, leading back beyond the way they had come. Their footsteps felt loud in the absolute silence of the building, a sure indicator of their presence to anyone who thought to listen. A mixed blessing, for they could hear anyone approaching as well. Anderson stiffened, twisting and freeing her weapon before pressing herself into the wall.

Dredd followed her lead, acutely aware of the growing tread of boots on the tiled floor. He glanced at Anderson in askance, and received only the slighted shift in response, as clear an indication as he could hope for to hold still and be quiet. He couldn't take hold of the clunky rifle without risking noise, couldn't do anything except wait on the wrong side of Anderson to see if her inexpressible hunch paid off. They were doing it backwards, he realized, as the one in body armor with a greater range of fire he ought to be leading; risking Anderson in the front was poor strategy. Quiet serious voices catch his attention and his eyes widen slightly as the patrol crosses into his field of vision, turn sharply, and veer off in a different direction. Peripherally, he was aware of Anderson trembling with some barely restrained emotion beside him.

Anderson contained herself until the footfalls faded. "Probably taking time out of their busy schedules to torment the civilians," she hissed venomously. "We'd do the city a favor if we imprisoned them all, you know."

All he could do was grunt noncommittally. Mercenaries were always trouble; undisciplined thugs that followed the deepest pockets were an aberration that had to be stamped out. Anderson was right, but that wasn't their priority at the moment. He let the comment slide and changed the topic. "Is that where the bar is located?"

The question distracted Anderson from her furor. "Yeah, just up that hall, 70 meters or so."

Dredd slid around her and pushed forwards, , trusting Anderson to stop him before he did something stupid like bump into a wandering gang member. He drew from memory, trying to align the two dimensional lines and dashes with the branching corridors sprawling out before him. If he had his street gear, his helmet, this would have been a trivial exercise. When was 'if' ever good for shit, though? He experienced a quiet burst of satisfaction as an entrance to the kitchens appeared in the form of two giant grey doors. It was an important landmark for the map in his head, and extremely satisfactory to find it where it ought to be. He spared a glance for Anderson, pale and wraithlike in his shadow, and she shook her head at the unasked question. "Service elevator is up ahead to the right." Serious and focused, she nodded once. The moment of familiarity was comforting in this strange place, these strange circumstances. He didn't have to tell her what to do; they had done it all before a lifetime ago. A moment passed and Dredd swung his rifle up, stepping into the intersection, sweeping all possible directions before advancing, the psychic at his shoulder watching everywhere he couldn't.

The small service elevator was unguarded and Anderson wove around Dredd, pressing the button and practically fidgeting at being exposed as they waited for the elevator to arrive. The light blinked green, and as the door began to open, she leapt inside, slamming into the guard waiting lazily for his floor. He didn't have time for anything but a comical look of surprise as a small blond woman shoved him back against the filthy wall and pressed against his carotid artery. She meets the guileless blue eyes stoically until they rolled up and the man sagged. She lowered the limp body to the floor of the elevator, completing the count before releasing her grip and looking up at Dredd. "Clear."

He snorted at that, entering the narrow space and negotiating around Anderson to drag the unconscious man out of the elevator. The body reeked of alcohol and perfumes, it was an easy thing to prop him up against a wall, just another victim of too much excess in this wretched place. He delayed a moment to swap his looted rifle for the more compact machine gun slung over his victim's shoulder. That Anderson held the elevator door open long enough for him to return came as something of a surprise. He had half expected her to go running after her lost fellow. He shot her a discreet glance, wondering what sort of relationship she had with her fellow Judge that had her coming to a cesspit like this. Not your business, he reminded himself stiffly. Judge Anderson's choice of recreational activity was not even remotely his problem.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Anderson frowned at the control panel inside the elevator. It would be woefully inconvenient if they were stopped part way up, but there was a slot for an emergency override key and just maybe… She pulled a pin from her hair and straightened the soft metal with an impatient tug before wiggling it into the keyhole. Once inserted, she readjusted her grip and twisted. For a moment she thought the pin would snap under the pressure, but then a light blinked and she grinned to herself in triumph, slapping the button for the 50th floor and straightening.

It had been a good idea on the girl's part; Dredd had to admit to himself, worthy steps to take to guard against unwanted delay. With their current lack of information, it was possible that the service elevator might still be used by staff on higher floors. The elevator began its ascent and they stood in silence. He found himself staring t a single blond curl, freed by the necessary sacrifice of a hairpin, and forced his attention to the numbers on the display blinking steadily upward.

Anderson stepped in front of him as the elevator eased to a stop, pressing both palms and her forehead against the door, face screwed up in effort. "No guards," she declared after a minute. "But there are people…"

"Armed?" At her negative head shake, Dredd shrugged. "Good enough for me." He smacked the Door Open button and nudged past Anderson to step into the empty hall. To their left was nothing, a dead end, and a dark hall stretching before them to the right, a supremely soft murmuring of voices coming from the distance. He led the way, one cautious step at a time, to where the hall terminated in a prep room of some kind, steel tables covered in trays of delicate looking confections on gilt trays and walls lined with racks of alcohol. A pimply youth in waiter's garb gives the intruders a once over and went back to a handheld game with an eye roll at the interruption. Anderson touched his shoulder lightly and together they eased through the ante-room, separated from the rest of the section by a heavy velvet curtain. A dim light cast shifting shadows down the long hallway of numbered doors terminating in another curtain of velvet. Beads tinkled as he led the way through, glancing around the large, low lit room of couches full of soft fat men in suits or Turkish towels lounging and gorging themselves on food, drink, and drug.

"Hey buddy, you done with that one? Plenty of gents waiting their turn." A corpulent man with luxurious moustaches leered at Anderson as she emerged from behind the curtain.

He wasn't sure which makes him angrier, this vile little cretin's slander of Judge Anderson or himself for having any reaction at all. It would be so easy to knock this creep over and slap him with a dozen charges, but that couldn't be his focus right now.

Anderson's voice threaded through the fog of rage with an audible smirk, "You boys are gonna have to wait until I got what I paid for with this one." Playfully she threaded her arm through Dredd's and pulled him past the rapacious stares and through another damnable curtain.

Out of one den of sin directly into another, Dredd moved past a gambling warren and a smoky room that stank of crime. They didn't have time to waste in this hellhole, but every turn brought some new illegal hedonism and no way out. The strobing lights dazzled and disoriented, drug laden smog infiltrating his defenses, eating away at his sense of purpose, his concepts of reality. Anderson's hand in his was hot, firm and _real_. It meant something in this abyss of nonsense, not just a guard against the lascivious looks and comments that rained down on them when they stumbled into this or that room.

Dredd's finger's flexed tightly, and Anderson squeezed back, towing him through another room of couches and pillows bathed in deep crimson light, bodies wriggling obscenely. It was a relief to let the curtain fall behind them, leaving them in the quiet half dark hallway. She felt the atmosphere shift as they advanced, and she grinned as they stopped in front of a darkly pained door, half-hidden in the gloom. "Finally," It took a moment to navigate the opening mechanism, but it opened with a whoosh into a dark empty waiting room lit by the fluorescent lights filtering through the reinforced windows. She made sure the door clicked shut behind them before exhaling deeply. "Thank Drokk that's over. I feel… ugh. Disgusting. Wonder why they get to have business as usual in there?"

He nodded in agreement; they had been only meat for the grinder in there. "Cartel operations. We can assume increased surveillance in the immediate area."

"Time?" Anderson shook herself like a dog and shoved the escaping tendrils of yellow hair out of her eyes with her free hand.

"Nineteen minutes remaining," Awkwardly he released Anderson's hand and trudged to the door separating this lobby from the rest of the building. "Are you combat ready?"

Anderson nodded, "Yeah. If possible, we should take one alive. If we can target where they're keeping the hostages that will save time." _And lives._

Dredd grunted affirmatively, adjusted his grip on his weapon, and pushed through the egress, slitting his eyes against the sudden brilliance and scanning for guards. It came as a surprise that the hall was empty; the cartel's center of operations, chock full of important clients seemed like a perfectly logical place for a sentry, if nothing else. "Can you find anyone?"

"Of course," Anderson smiled and pushed forward further into the building. She led around a block of offices and apartments, feeling for the light of life that other minds gave off. It came upon her suddenly as they were moving down a long, straight hall. She has to stand on her toes to murmur by Dredd's ear, "Patrol of four coming straight on." The thud of boots and the echo of voices punctuates her statement ad in the distance a small cluster of people becomes visible.

Adrenaline spiked and Dredd parses a thousand different actions and outcomes. They haven't been spotted yet, but the next few seconds held no guarantee for that continuation. Anderson was still close to whisper, breath warm against his neck, and he made his decision, hedging his bets. As naturally as he could, he brought his hand up, cupping her flushed cheek in his palm, tendrils of hair tickling his fingers, and gently pressed her against the wall, slipping the stumpy machine gun behind her back. "Are they armed?" He brought his face close to hers to whisper.

She could feel the moment that inscrutable stare shifted to iron clad commitment, pressing into her personal space, exquisitely close and for a wild, insane moment she wondered if he was going to kiss her. The whisper sent a shiver through her that he could probably feel, but had the grace not to comment on. It's a diversionary tactic, nothing but, and a damn good one, so she tried to focus on the threat approaching. It's sublimely difficult though, a whisper against the raucous thoughts of the Judge holding her, overwhelming physical contact presenting an inescapable portrait of his surface feelings and thoughts. Duty, cold and stark, first and foremost, duty that brought him on this lunatic mission, duty that had him pressing a fellow Judge against a wall, close as lovers. Duty that kept lust at bay, and under that a deep and long standing fear that such a fence was too weak for its occupant. Gently she turned away from the contact, closing her eyes and pushing towards her goal, matching the stubbornness in the man against her. She ruled her body as absolutely as he ruled his, and breathed the answer to his query, "Three long arms, one short."

Of course it couldn't be easy, of course it couldn't be a fair fight against mercenaries equally armed, or even better, a fight unfairly in their favor. Their best chance would be drawing them in with a spectacle and then surprise their would-be antagonists at close quarters. "Take the gun."

"Shhh," Anderson smiled up at him as she reached behind her back and groped cautiously for the stock of the weapon. She mirrored his pose, snaking her free hand around his neck, brushing against the short dark strands of hair and tugging him further down so she can brush her mouth against his ear. "They see us."

A shout is raised but he forced himself not to turn and address the threat but t stay bent over Anderson, Judge Anderson, a respected colleague. He gripped that professional relationship tightly as her mouth touched his ear, tilted her head back to bare a slim white throat. Hunching was uncomfortable, almost as bad as listening to the hurried shuffle of boots draw closer. He found support by resting a hand on her hip, pulling her somehow closer and accidentally brushing his nose against her pulse fluttering in her neck. She jumped at that, strong fingers digging involuntarily into his neck. The thump of boots stopped and was replaced by the terribly soft sound of weapons butting against shoulders. A leg hooked over his and for one wildly inconvenient moment his mind went blank at the sensation before he spied the grip of her concealed pistol now conveniently close at hand. Uncomfortably aware of his audience, he dragged his hand down her side until it rested on the thinly covered section of warm thigh. Slowly, stupidly, as though still distracted by the woman he spared a suspicious glance over his shoulder at the four security guards aiming at them. "Whaddya want?"

The man on point edged closer, "What have we here, then?"

"Wasn't this Marlow's floor?" The shortest guard whined. "Fucking typical, man. What're the odds that he snuck off for a-oof." He fell silent at a blow and a sharp look from his teammate.

"What are you doing here?" The leader takes another dangerous step closer, hesitating fifteen feet away and squaring his sights with the back of Dredd's head. "Shouldn't wander away from the brothel, man. There are rules; bad things might happen."

"A dumbass and his slut," one of the guards shook her head in disgust. "Try to keep it tucked in, Hawk. We got shit to do."

Beneath him, Anderson tensed, pressing her leg a few inches higher and leaning forward, anticipating a moment of action. Dredd eased his hand down, discreetly loosening the pistol in her boot.

"Hungry little slut, looks li-" The crude remark was terminated prematurely as the guard's eye roledl up and he collapsed midsentence.

On cue, Dredd pivoted and dropped to his knees, bringing the feather-light firearm up and squeezing two shots off. The first obliterated the woman's face, but the second was foiled by the leader's flinch at the sudden crack and the shot leaves only a red graze.

Anderson dispatched the third, caught fumbling his safety with a neat shot through the neck and double taps the man Dredd winged. "Neat," She feigned at nonchalance, slinging the machine gun over her shoulder and crouching beside the unconscious male guard. She placed her fingertips against his temples and let her eyes slide shut, delving deep into the strange mind.

"Did you do that?" Dredd checked the shots remaining in the magazine and stood guard as Anderson lost her awareness of their surroundings.

Seconds ticked by before she opened her eyes with a troubled expression. "They're keeping the hostages on floor sixty-three." She announced and completely disregarded his question.

Thirteen maze-like floors that needed to be traversed in fifteen minutes. He didn't like it at all. "Can you find them?"

Anderson chewed her lip, and then shook her head with a small frown. "Only the floor number; general location."

Time wasn't a luxury he could waste at this juncture.

Dredd squatted beside the psychic and began ruthlessly stripping the unconscious guard of his equipment, strapping the stylized vest, helmet, and utility belt on over his plainclothes.

Anderson stood, brushing her knees ff and retrieving her discarded pistol, re-holstering it as she watched. "You're going in?"

"Yes." Dredd checked the fit of the helmet then discarded it for the deceased squad leader's. The fit was far more satisfactory on the second one, and he slid the reflective visor over his eyes. "Meet me back by the civilians."

Hazel eyes narrowed as she glared up at him, "Don't be an idiot, do you think you can bluff your way in with nothing?"

The idea she was hinting at was an ugly one. "Anderson…" He growled.

"Can you think of a faster way to find hostages than bringing one of your own?" She hissed back, mangling the sad remains of her hairstyle in frustration. "I didn't come this far just to turn away at last minute, Dredd. I know the risks!" Before he could stage a counter, she flicked a long plastic zip-tie out of a dead guard's vest and wrapped it loosely around her wrists. "Now lets go!"

Dredd watched her stride off imperiously, wondering with just a trace of irony who the real hostage in this situation was. He caught up with her rather easily before the elevators where she was lurking.

"Guards by the elevator," She informed him quietly, not quite able to disguise the manic glint in her eyes. It was one thing to propose a solution which had her marching unarmored and unarmed before half a dozen enemies, and another thing to step out and face them. "You ready?"

"Remember this was your idea," He grouched at her, slapping a heavy hand on her bare shoulder and marching her out into the open. The business end of six firearms swung in their direction and he nodded in greeting. "One for the Big Guy upstairs."

The visored faces didn't change, "Who the fuck is this?" He jabbed the barrel of his rifle in Anderson's face. "Who the fuck are you? Where's the rest of your squad?"

"Squad leader Hawke; found the bitch prowling around the floor below. She took out three of my team before going down, gotta be a Judge or some other affiliation." Dredd kept his impassive frown in place while lying through his teeth, cobbling details together from snippets of memory.

One of the guards edged forward, "We've had groups going MIA all night, Sax. Might be some little bitch taking advantage of the situation."

The first speaker shook his head doubtfully, "Wes and his crew were supposed to catch everyone in the party room and bag and tag the relevant targets."

The second speaker turned and exchanged a brief look with a silent guard, possibly an eye roll or some other look of contempt. "Yes sir, but you know how 'supposed to' works in practice."

"Especially with Wes in charge." One snickered nastily.

"Hey now, Wes is alright." The fourth protested, "Maybe this one wasn't down in the bar. Maybe she infiltrated the brothel or something. This building's like a steel sieve."

The first speaker nodded slowly, "The boss will sort her out right enough, one way or another. Tonka, go with 'em. Be something terrible if she got a shot at the Boss before he paid us!" When the feeble chuckling died down he stared at Dredd another long minute before nodding his head and stepping aside.

A hulking figure in body armor broke off from the cluster monitoring the elevators and fell into step with Dredd as he muscled Anderson through the heavy metal doors. The doors slid shut, trapping them in silence and their guard punched the button etched with the number 63. The elevator began its ascent as Dredd and the guard exchanged a long cautious look.

The guard shook his head after a few floors had scrolled by. "Man, I don't get it. How'd a scrawny little girl like that take out three professional armed men?" He crossed a step closer to prod their captive with the stubby barrel of his shotgun. "Think she's got any friends hanging around?"

"Who knows?" Dredd only shrugged in response.

"Bet she does." Tonka advanced another step. "You're going back out there; don't you want to know for sure?" He chuckled.

Dredd checked his instinct. However intolerable this stranger might be, there was nothing to gain by leaving another body for discovery. The ultimate goal in all this was to get to secure the hostage judges and neutralize the instigator. It would be nice if the elevator would hurry up. "What's it to you?"

"Yeah, fuck you too, man. It's not I got friends out there or nothin'." The guard swore without rancor, adjusting his grip on his weapon as the elevator beeped and the doors opened. He took up position at Anderson's shoulder and shoved her out into the hall.

Anderson lurched, stumbled but kept to her feet, and endured being escorted through the passageway. There were dozens of men in various states of battle-dress and they all broke off to stare. There were catcalls, commentary on her appearance and vulgar speculations, but the rapacious roar of intent drowned the words before they reached her ears. She steeled herself and let the abhorrent sensations wash around her; all the evil thoughts in the world couldn't cause harm without her consent. Another sharp poke from Tonka's gun barrel steered her down another hall, more stares and more men. Whatever else, the newcomer seemed to have some sense of direction through the complex twists of hallway and jerking her to a halt in front of an entirely ordinary door.

"Open up!" Tonka thudded his fist against the barrier.

There was a pause and then some scraping before the door was thrown open by another creep in graffiti covered vest "What do you want?"

A full helmet couldn't quite disguise Tonka's sneer of contempt. "A special visitor for the Mouth."

"He's not here," The doorman took a step back to reveal the stark interior of the room with a handful of men hunched over a deck of playing cards.

"Then where is he?" The growl came from both Dredd and Tonka, behind Anderson's head they exchanged a surprised look and refocused on their antagonist in tandem.

The guard at the door gave Dredd a brief, unimpressed glance. "Easy there, big guy." Turning back to Tonka he shook his head slowly. "I don't think so, man. Remember the last gig we worked together? The one where you left me under fire with my nuts out?"

"What nuts? This bitch here has more cajones than you and your dead-ass brother put together. Now where's the fuckin' boss?" The doorman's hand twitched towards his weapon and Tonka bounded forward, dealing a heavy open handed slap to the side of the smaller man's head. The doorman went down, and stayed down. "Anyone else got any clever ideas?"

"Jesus fuck, man, there's something wrong with you." One of the card players drawled. "He's on the fucking roof. Are you going to go be a good errand girl or do you need to kick my ass too?"

Tonka rapped his gloved fist against his helmet and pointed at the speaker before gripping Anderson's arm and hauling her back out, through the hall, and back to the elevator. It hadn't been summoned elsewhere since their departure and opens immediately at the press of a button. Dredd moved to enter, but an arm like a steel beam blocked his path. "Return to your post, bro. I got her."

"I'm not your bro," Dredd ducked under the obstruction, turning and stepping back into the confines of the elevator facing the pair. It would be so easy to push the close button and be on his way to confronting the hostage takers. Anderson's presence, rather her presence being restrained by the thug, complicates that scenario though doesn't necessarily eliminate it. She made the choice to come, to take on her current role, knowing full well the possible outcomes it entailed. He gives the mercenary a look of thinly veiled disgust. "Are you coming or not?"

There was a moment that might have ended in violence, but the Tonka guffawed and shoved Anderson at him. "You are one crazy motherfucker, you know that? If it wasn't my ass on the line I'd send you on your way with tiny-twat here and hope she kicks your fuckin' ass on the way up. Tragically, after she finished you up she might get her filthy fingers on the guy who pays us all, and I can't let that happen. Guess it's your lucky day." He saunters into the elevator, crowding Dredd's personal space.

"Must be," Dredd agreed sardonically. The low level intimidation didn't concern him. Everything he had seen about the strange mercenary clearly indicated that any assault would be seen coming from a mile away. The proximity could even be turned to his advantage when the inevitable confrontation arrives. The power armor that coats the escort could prove to be something of an issue, its high quality paramilitary, recent tech compared to the mismatch of gear that his colleagues sported. Firearms, especially the weak short to medium range he was carrying, would lose approximately 50% effectiveness against the soft reinforced coating, and bludgeons would be rendered useless by the soft gel underlay. It was an interesting problem, but one that needed an immediate solution.

The elevator doors opened to an empty hallway. No guards here, just dust with a clean drag pattern leading straight from where they step out in a straight line down the hall. Anderson's eyes went wide at the sight, it's too easy to imagine the prone body of her friend, dragged carelessly along, making that track on the ground. She sends a wave of psychic energy at the man still holding her arm, trying to overload his senses. He staggers, dazed, but still pulling his weapon up blindly.

He's a big guy, well outfitted, but he's not a Judge and Dredd has only the slightest difficulty compromising his grip on the gun. From there the fight is short, brutal, and decisively on sided. "Two minutes." Anderson freezes, they exchange a single poignant look, and then in unison begin sprinting down the dustless track.

It ended in a blind dash up the stairs, door slamming outwards as the two Judges burst out into the cold night air. Dredd's longer legs gave him the direly needed edge over Anderson's desperation and he ripped through the door, butt of his stolen gun solid and reassuring against his shoulder. The roof was flat, giving a clear view of the clusters of sentries fumbling to react flanking the huddle of hooded men. At the edge of his vision, he could just make out the shape of Anderson, pistol hanging loosely by her side as she stared vacantly into only hell knew what. "Citizens of Mega-City One, you are hereby charged with aiding and abetting in the kidnapping of seven Judges of the same-named City, conspiracy to commit murder of said Judges, and twenty-three counts of domestic terrorism. How do you plead?"

Anderson was lost to the nuances of her surroundings, her attention consumed by the pudgy, well dressed man standing by the edge of the roof and the bagged female in zebra-striped pants on her knees before him. Without a thought for anything else, Anderson threw herself into the mind of the man touching Corey.

It was different from any mind she had ventured into before. It wasn't a building, not even a space that could be navigated in three dimensions. Her target was distracted, for an instant she could feel Corey through him, distorted by the alien filters. Reflexively she recoiled from the contact, then drove onwards. Visualization meant nothing here, she was trapped in an endless desert in all directions, driven only by the absolute certainty that there was something to find. She threw it to the wind that didn't blow, scattering her mental projection into sand as fine as mist, letting herself spread and permeate everything until she was as intricately bound in this protective barrier as the man who had built it. She could feel him inside, absolutely focused on probing the empath prostrate before him. Anderson _squeezed_, exerting pressure in all directions until the grains of sand danced manically. It hurt, as much as such a sensation could have meaning, dark slashes dancing in and out of view at her exertion. Far away she could hear screaming, and pushed harder unraveling threads, twisting knives of thought, any and every act of destruction she could think of raining down on the stressed and twisted thought armor.

She never saw the tsunami that crashed onto the desert, dissolving the sand and washing her soul into an ocean that drained down a plug into the chilly evening air. Somehow her body was still standing, arched back to the sky. A few brave stars winked through the wispy cloud covering and her gun arm jerked like a marionette. _NO. _She knew that hateful trick, and waggled the arm until the weapon slipped from her awkward grip and clattered off in the dark. The pressure on her mind increased a thousand-fold, filling her mind with hot lead and she retreated from the unbearable sensations, slipping _under _and _around_, filling the spaces her enemy left and swinging the momentum around back into his head. As light as a bubble, she sprang after it, pushing in after the boulder of misery she had boomeranged into him. Nothing could stop her. Colors and images flickered in and out of awareness as she pushed in, discarding memories and sensations as she dug herself in to _contain_ and _control_. The feelings shrank as she delved further, contracting into a dimorphous globe of white light with an infinity of delicate white capillaries of light threading away. She raised her hand, hovering over the anomaly, watching threads recoil from her proximity. Should she smash it under her first? The consequences of that, this deep into another head, could be equally unpleasant for her.

Anderson opened her eyes and took several careful steps away from the catatonic man on the pavement. She shivered, night breeze freezing against her sweat slicked skin and looked around the roof, spotting a few scattered bodies lit by red and blue lights flashing far below and Dredd standing a few careful steps back. "What happened?"

"Shot while resisting arrest. Reinforcements are on their way." He jerked his chin towards the edge of the roof. "Is he-?"

"I don't know," Anderson replied as honestly as she could. Later there would be reports, analysis, examinations. Whatever she had done, the repercussions would be in the future. She dropped beside Corey, scraping her knees on the unfinished cement and pulling the hood off. The other woman burned with unnatural warmth as she sagged against Anderson.

"Cass? What're you doin' here?" Corey slurred, eyes crossing as she tried to look up at Anderson.

"Shh," Anderson reprimanded gently and helped her colleague lie back. "It's okay now. We got you."

"We?" Corey blinked and goggled at Dredd, going through a similar process with the other Judges. "Oooh, I see. How heroic. You know you really should-"

"Yes, yes. I know." This was the last conversation Anderson wanted to have on a roof full of Judges with more inbound. "Just relax; a medic will be here soon." She stood, wiping grit off her legs and glanced over at the carefully orchestrated cluster fuck playing out in the street below and then joined Dredd in releasing the other Judges, retreating into the shadows when the medics trotted out.

Dredd gave his bare-bones report to the medics and followed Anderson to the edge of the scenario, watching as care was dispersed with ruthless efficiency.

She smiled up at him, teeth flashing white in the darkness. "Just like old times, huh?"

He grunted, not wanting to unpack those four words. Once the medics were done, they'd go their separate ways, let the bureaucracy they both served subsume them. The reports from tonight could probably fill a new textbook on things not to do in hostage situations, he'd be writing until every pen in his office ran out of ink. There was nothing to be gained from reminiscing about the few short years they had shared assignment.

The medic approached before Anderson could phrase a suitably witty retort. "Alright, sirs, we're starting transport to Control facilities for overnight observation. Nothing too serious, but they're not in great shape. You should be able to visit in the morning." He waved to his colleagues arranging themselves around gurneys and wedged the door open.

On her way out, Judge Corey struggled to sit up and wave Dredd over. "Hey, you! Dredd! Take care of my girl Cass, make sure she has a good night…" The Psi-Judge's voice petered off and she slumped over as the train of Judges and medical personnel made their way back into the building.

Anderson blushed hotly, clapping her hand over her eyes in mortification. "Ignore her; you don't have to do anything." She mumbled, and added more quietly. "I'm gonna kill her."

That was not the reaction he had expected of Anderson. Dredd gave her a considering look, taking in a plethora of detail, the hunch of her shoulders, the blooming scrapes and bruises from the night's work, the flicker of _something_ in her eyes as she glanced up at him and looked away. "We're done here."

Anderson's mouth curved in a small frown before the expression eased away. "I guess so." She jogged off, retrieving her borrowed weapon and securing it in her boot before meeting Dredd by the door. "The reports from this are going to be a nightmare."

He let the clatter of boots fill the silence as they made their way back down the stairs, through the paramilitary complex being combed through by Teks, and out to the bank of elevators they had negotiated their way to so recently. "You won't have to write up anything. This wasn't your assignment."

"I don't mind." The words slipped off her tongue without a thought, and she stared at the scuffed toes of her boots rather than meet Dredd's stare. _Stupid, what a stupid thing to say. _"I mean, you'll need the follow up from Psi-Division anyway. It'll be more efficient." She risked a glance at his reflection in the smooth metal walls and found him scrutinizing her once more.

He could see the sense in that, and it would save him some extra leg work. "All right," he could see her watching him, an infinite feedback loop alien but not entirely unpleasant. The elevator chimed as it returned to their floor, opening door eliminating the shared reflection to reveal the plain interior.

Anderson stepped into the elevator, leaning back until her head bumped lightly against the cool wall and closed her eyes. The mission had been dangerous, almost addictive, and there were moment from tonight she'd take to her grave. Amazing was the only word that seemed to fit it fully. "I missed this."

"Riding in elevators?"

Was he… joking? She cracked an eye open to peek at him, and saw nothing on his face. "No, you…" She struggled to find the right insult and gave up. "Ridiculous man. Not riding in elevators. Working with you." Well that wasn't quite how she had wanted to word that, but the damage was done.

He shrugged uneasily, memory bubbling up unwanted. "We have our assignments."

"That's a pretty flimsy excuse." The anger she's able to summon wasn't strong enough to make any real difference to either of them and it dissipates as the numbers tick downwards. "Look, I-"

"You're right," He cut her off. "It is an excuse. What are you going to do about it?"

"Ask you out for a drink." The words rushed out before the small treasonous part of her mind that insisted _kiss him_ was a reasonable response could make itself heard. She took a deep breath, "Look, it's been a long time. We have things to talk about, and while I know that deep meaningful conversation isn't your forte I could probably do enough talking for both of us and I missed your stupid grumpy face and total lack of articulation so will you, Judge Joseph Dredd, accept my invitation to go out to some hideous little hole in the wall shack, or other establishment of your choice, and consume a perfectly lawful amount of liquor with me?"

He hadn't expected her to outright ask such a dangerous question and he let it sit uncomfortably between them as the last numbers ticked away and the elevator doors opened to a bustling lobby. Wordlessly, they made their way to the large engraved doors and out into the night illuminated by strobing emergency lights.

The lack of response was disappointing, but expected. No one would have been impressed by such a display, certainly not Dredd. Years of practice kept her emotions in check as she turned towards the corner to hail a ride home. A tug on her arm brought her up short.

"Come with me."

She looked up at his expressionless face, down at the large hand wrapped around her wrist, then back up. Her heart wobbled uncomfortably, thrown out of its natural order of comfort by the sudden swings of feeling. She discarded the notion that he was toying with her, of all the people who might try subtle emotional manipulations Dredd didn't even qualify for the bottom of the list. He probably had simply made his decision and not bothered to enlighten her about it. "Where?" She asked as if it mattered, as if there was a place she wouldn't follow him if he asked her.

His mouth twitched, on anyone else it might have been mistaken for a smile and he let go of her. "Peter's." She nodded and fell into step beside him, keeping close in the crowd of emergency personnel going about their business. He led her to where he stashed his LawMaster only an hour ago, pushing the heavy canvas covering away and easing it into the open. He climbed on and offered Anderson a hand up. She ignored him and clambers onto the back of the seat, before wrapping an arm around him, resting her check against his back.

The engine hummed to life at his command and he took the first corner sharply, starling an exhilarated laugh out of Anderson. The wind rips through her hair as they merge into the street traffic and pick up speed, hurdling towards the unknowable future together. Maybe a birthday wasn't such a bad thing after all.


End file.
